


Don't You Forget About Me

by Sitcom_Fan



Category: Derry Girls (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Misery, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:46:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sitcom_Fan/pseuds/Sitcom_Fan
Summary: Feeling at his nadir, James receives a very tempting offer...but will he take it?
Relationships: James Maguire/Erin Quinn, James Maguire/Original Character(s)
Comments: 65
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A new fic for you all! Based on the song by Simple Minds. 
> 
> It will start out rather miserable but please be patient and I think you'll like what I have planned for this story :)

James’s POV

I’m walking home with my friends. Or more accurately, I’m walking back to the house in which I currently live with my cousin - who makes no effort to hide her deep-rooted contempt for me - and her friends. Granted, they tolerate me and let me hang around with them but I pay the price with my self-esteem. There are some nights where I cry myself to sleep and I have to make sure I wake up in good time to go to the bathroom and wash my face so that you can’t see - to quote Smokey Robinson - the tracks of my tears when you look closer. 

Derry, Londonderry, Stroke City or whatever you want to call it, isn’t my home. At least not in the true sense of the word. Lest we forget, I can’t even go to the boys’ school. I try to think of the positives but I’ve yet to find one. The weather is dreadful, the food atrocious and that’s before I’ve touched on the sectarian conflict. The only way I can describe it is a cesspit of bigotry, intolerance and hatred.

We pass the end of Clare’s road and she turns off towards her parents’ house. Clare isn’t too bad, to give her her due, but there’s still a sense of unease in her voice whenever she talks to me, though I suppose I can’t really blame here. I suppose Orla’s ok too. In a way, I envy how she lives with her head in the clouds and I have to suppress laughter at her random comments; heaven forbid should Michelle see me remotely happy. As for Erin, well, she has her head so far up her arse she could give herself a colonoscopy. Maybe I’m being too harsh, but she has an insufferable superiority complex. Michelle doesn’t talk to me after Erin and Orla head off down their road but maybe that’s for the best. I was always taught not to say anything if I didn’t have anything nice to say and as you can gather, I don’t at the moment. In fact, I can’t remember when I did.

I feel I’ve reached a nadir when I notice a strange car - a blue Ford Mondeo - parked outside Uncle Martin and Auntie Deirdre’s house. The registration number is in a different format to the other cars around and at the bottom of the number plate is the name and postcode of a car dealership in South London. An unusual sight, but I don’t give it a second thought. 

I follow Michelle into the house and Auntie Deirdre appears. “James, you have a visitor,” she tells me. Immediately, I’m stumped. Who would visit me? I don’t know anyone here. But perhaps that’s why there’s a strange car outside. I try not to get my hopes up; disappointment has been a part of my life for a long time.

Deirdre leads me to the living room and sitting on the sofa drinking a cup of tea is none other than my former stepdad, Paul. “Hello, James,” he says.

“Paul...what are you doing here?” I ask, absolutely flabbergasted. I pinch myself to check I’m not dreaming.

“I’ve come to visit you and see how you were getting on,” he explains. Fair enough, that’s as good an explanation as any. To be fair, Paul was good to me and one of the few people I’ve ever been able to trust. It’s just a pity it didn’t work out between him and Mum. 

“Oh, well, it’s nice to see you. This is Michelle, my cousin,” I reply. Michelle shakes Paul’s hand and disappears upstairs. She’s been unbearable since Robbie Williams left Take That.

“James, I need to talk to you. It’s quite important.” Paul’s voice is solemn. What could this mean?

“What is it?” I ask with a heavy feeling of trepidation.

“Well, now mine and your mother’s divorce is finalised, I’ve finally got a handle on things,” Paul begins and pauses before continuing, “I appreciate this will sound like a crazy proposition, but I wondered how you’d feel about moving back to London and living with me? I’ve got a two-bed flat a short bus ride from your old school. It’s not much but you’d have a room with space for a small desk. Don’t feel you have to decide straight away but just give it some thought.”

I’m gobsmacked. It’s been a funny old day, that’s for sure. I briefly think about Paul’s offer. I’ve completed my GCSEs, so it wouldn’t be too disruptive as far as my education’s concerned. But I can’t make such a big decision on a whim. I wonder if maybe I need to give Derry some more time. Maybe stick it out? I decide to sleep on it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is torn about the idea of leaving Derry behind, until a minor incident helps him make a decision.

James’s POV

I sleep a log that night and when I wake up in the morning, there’s no need to wash my face. When I look in the bathroom mirror, I smile broadly, and I have good reason to. I haven’t made my mind up yet, but just having the choice to leave Derry is doing wonders for my mental state.

As I stand in the shower, I think more about Paul’s offer. In one way, going back to London is the obvious answer but a part of me thinks I may acclimatise to Derry if I give it a little longer. But then, the sixth form will be for two years, which is a long time to stay in a place that you’re not particularly enamoured with. But then until last night, I thought that was the only option, though if I chose to stay and then changed my mind, Paul could easily rescind his offer. It does seem slightly cruel that after longing for a chance to return home - to my real home, I’m tying myself in knots when it finally comes. I guess it’s a prime example of why you should be careful what you wish for.

I go downstairs and make breakfast. Auntie Deirdre and Uncle Martin are already at work and Michelle isn’t up yet, so I have some peace. I make a cup of tea in a large mug and head towards the door that leads to the sitting room. Alas, my plan is foiled when seemingly out of nowhere, Michelle materialises and storms in aggressively, causing the door to hit me on the head quite hard. In the shock, I drop my mug on the floor and it smashes, distributing its contents all over the floor. For an English person, there’s nothing worse than seeing a good cup of tea go to waste.

“For fuck’s sake, dicko! Why can’t you be more fuckin’ careful? Honestly, not content with following me and my friends round like a lost puppy, you have to get in my way and make a mess like the fuckin’ English savage you are! Christ, no wonder your ma ditched you here! She must wish she got that abortion because it wouldn’t have been half as traumatic as having to bring up a drip like you!” Michele yells, causing me to retreat.

I remain silent. Michelle goes to the cupboard to fetch a mug and doesn’t so much look at me. I’m not going to dignify that with a response. Never give a bully what they want, I was taught. In this case, it’s a response; I don’t want to give Michelle any satisfaction at my expense. Not that she knows it, but she’s actually done me a favour. I pick up the remains of the broken mug and place them in the bin, then mop up the spilt tea.

“Earth to dicko! You’re not talkin’ to me? Christ, how can you be so fuckin’ rude?” I want to smirk at the irony. “I can’t believe Mary thinks you’re the most polite young fella to grace the earth! But then, what do you expect from an English prick?” I continue to remain silent. It’s not easy, but I tell myself that this is the best approach. She heads upstairs and comes down again ten minutes later carrying a large bag. “I’m going out!” she snarls, not saying where to, not that I care.

By a marvellous twist of good timing, the phone rings and it’s Paul, calling from his B&B. “Morning, James, I wondered if you’d had any more thoughts?” he says to me with a rising intonation.

“Yes, I want to come back to London, with you,” I respond. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life and it’s very satisfying. “As soon as possible.”

“Ok,” Paul says. “I’ll call you back in a bit.”

Ten minutes later, Paul calls back. “Ok, James,” he begins, “I’ve managed to get us on the next crossing which leaves Belfast tonight. Pack your things and I’ll be right over.”

I can’t believe how quickly it’s happened. By this time tomorrow morning, I’ll be back on English soil, where I belong. I’ll never have to set foot in this miserable place again. Ten minutes later, Paul arrives, by which time my bags are mostly packed. With Paul’s help, I pack the rest of my belongings and load them into the car. It’s a bit unfortunate that Auntie Deirdre is still at work, but she knows about Paul’s offer. I write her a note to thank her for looking after me and promise I’ll write soon. I write a shorter one for Michelle which contains only the bare minimum amount of information. I tell myself that Michelle will appreciate the concision.

I take one last look around before I climb into the passenger seat of Paul’s car and my journey home begins! It’s late morning on a weekday and the traffic is light, so it doesn’t take us long to get out of Derry. As I look out onto the scenic countryside, I realise that Derry does have at least one redeeming feature; it’s just a pity there are so many downsides. I turn around and look back as the edge of the city recedes further into the distance and out of my life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michelle is in for a shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention before, this starts around the end of season 1 and then diverges from canon.
> 
> And just to clarify: neither Michelle nor any of the girls knew about Paul's offer to take James back to London.

By Christ, what a day! It’s not often that we get sunny weather in Derry and Donegal but when we do, it’s class! Granted, Buncrana isn’t exactly Bondi but it’s still great. I spent most of the time lying on the beach, trying to get a tan, or as much as I can get anyway. I think I’ll look cracker with a tan. Message to mammies of Derry: lock up your sons because I, Michelle Mallon, am on the prowl! Unless they’re gay, obviously. 

The girls seemed a little concerned that James wasn’t with me. I didn’t tell them that James’s stepdad was here because I just didn’t see that as necessary. Why can’t I just enjoy a day out with my friends without my prick of a cousin hanging around like a bad smell?

We get back to Derry and get fish and chips, which we can do now Fionnuala has finally lifted the ban. I decide not to remind the others it was my fault we got banned in the first place. As James isn’t with us, I don’t have to watch him recoil at the smell of the food. It’s just like the old days, and I love it. 

Erin invites me to a sleepover so I head back to grab an overnight bag. When I get home, Mammy and Daddy are watching London’s burning. Why they enjoy it so much is beyond me, though some of the fellas in it are rides. James never watched it because it reminded him of home and made him sad. I don’t blame him in a way; I’d be sad if I had to call London my home. Granted Derry has some problems: sectarian violence, segregation, poverty, unemployment...actually, quite a few problems now I think about it. But it’s still class.

I pack a bag and then knock on the door of James’s room. “Oi, dicko! I’m staying at Erin’s tonight, not that it’s any of your business!” I don’t mention that Erin extended the invitation to him because I just want one night away from him. Just one fuckin’ night! I hear no reply, so I assume that James doesn’t want to talk to me, which suits me. Anyway, forget about James, there’s craic to be had!

Mammy suddenly appears at the top of the stairs. She looks serious, but that’s her default expression. There’s nothing I’m due punishment for...I think. “James has gone,” she tells me sternly.

I narrow my eyes. Did I hear that correctly? “Sorry? He’s gone?”

“Aye. He’s gone to London with Paul.”

“When’s he coming back?” My James-free day could be several James-free days. This day just gets better and better!

“He’s not.” My stomach suddenly turns. I was not expecting this.

“You mean he’s moved back to London? Permanently?”

“Correct.” Mammy looks at her watch. “The ferry will be leaving Belfast harbour in about one and a half hours.”

“But he didn’t mention that to me! I had no idea Paul wanted to take him back! And he didn’t say goodbye!”

I must look crestfallen because Mammy just scoffs contemptuously and says, “Dry your eyes!” That reminds me of the day Auntie Kathy went back to London without James.

“I don’t understand!” I’m in shock now. It’s so sudden and I haven’t processed what I’ve just heard. Less than twelve hours ago James was downstairs in the kitchen clearing up after a spillage and now he’s not coming back.

“Oh, wise up!” Mammy says gruffly. “You couldn’t stand him! He left this for you.”

Mammy passes me a small piece of paper.

Michelle,

This isn’t working. I’m leaving.

James

I’m struck by how few words the note contains. I still can't get my head around how he could leave so suddenly. I go back into my room and lie down on the bed. I feel numb. I don’t know what to think. I just want to fall asleep and hope that it all makes sense when I wake up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James arrives back in England, finally free from Derry. Or so he thinks.

James’s POV

I wake up and look out of the window of my cabin onto the Mersey estuary, which fills me with delight. It’s still quite early when we reach Birkenhead, so we decide to have breakfast at a service station on the M6. The service station is busy. Some of the patrons are obviously going to business meetings, some look like lorry drivers and there are several families too, who I assume are on the way to Cornwall for a summer holiday. Lots of people from all walks of life mix in this small area for a short period of time then head their separate ways, never to cross paths again. After living in Derry, where everyone knows everything about you, it’s a strange thought. It dawns on me that no one here apart from Paul knows nor cares who I am. I can go about my business safe in the knowledge that I won’t be the subject of a scandal. It feels fantastic and liberating and it makes me realise that I’ve moved on from Derry.

This feeling is short-lived, however, as less than half an hour after leaving the services we pass the motorway exit for Stoke-on-Trent - famous for its ceramic industry and being the birthplace of Robbie WIlliams: one of Michelle’s many crushes. Immediately, I’m reminded of her and I can’t help but wonder how she reacted to my note, if at all. I shake off the thought and tell myself that if Michelle cared about me even slightly, she would have treated me better and that I do not need to concern myself with how she feels.

Not long afterwards, we see a sign for Stratford-upon-Avon, the birthplace of William Shakespeare, and I’m reminded of Erin and her love of literature. I think of the times she not-so-subtly bragged about how much she knew about the set text in English lessons and the time that Sister Patrick gave her extra homework as punishment. Even if singling students out like that was against school policy, no student with any sense would attempt to make that argument to Sister Michael.

We stop at another service station and as I get out of the car, I begin to cry.

“What’s the matter, James?” Paul asks me.

“Nothing specifically,” I reply weakly with a sigh, “It’s just...everything that’s happened...it’s just kind of hit me.”

“It’s ok, James,” Paul says softly, “You’ve been through a lot and it may take a bit of time to process but just remember you can always talk to me. I’m gonna take care of you and you’re gonna be just fine.” Paul pauses, “By the way, are you still into Doctor Who?”

“Yes, can we go to conventions?”

“Of course! I’ve missed going to them with you! There’s one coming up soon actually.”

“Looking forward to it!”

After a cup of coffee, we get back on the road and I fall asleep as a result of the mental exhaustion I’m feeling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michelle has news for her friends.

Michelle’s POV

It’s been five days since James left and I haven’t left the house in that time. I claimed that I’d fallen ill with a stomach bug - trivial enough for the girls not to worry (except Clare, obviously, but she worries about everything) but serious enough to justify staying so I can buy myself time to think of how to tell the girls. I fear that when I do tell them we’ll descend into accusations and recriminations but irrespective of that, I need to face up to the situation that I played a key part in creating.

I ring Erin one morning and tell her I’m feeling better now. She invites me to her house and I head straight over. I tell her that James will be watching reruns of this programme he likes about some fella who fights aliens or whatever it is. I don’t like having to continue lying, but I will tell the truth soon. I don’t want Erin and the others to speculate about James’s whereabouts while I’m on my way over. When I get to the Quinns’, I knock on the door and Erin answers it almost instantly. I follow her upstairs to her room - my stomach churning as I walk - and when we get there, Clare and Orla are sitting on the bed. 

“Will James be coming over later?” Clare asks me.

“No,” I answer flatly. Erin looks at me suspiciously. She knows something’s up and just like her ma, she won’t rest until she’s gotten to the bottom of it. “I have something to tell you about James, actually.”

“Is he ok?” Orla asks.

“I think so,” I reply then kick myself inside when I realise what I’ve said.

“You think so? Michelle, you live with him!” Erin snorts.

“Well, that’s what I need to tell you about,” I say.

“What do you mean?” Clare asks anxiously.

“Aye, has he been adopted?” Orla inquires, and naturally, we all look at her slightly askew. Orla’s not stupid, but sometimes she’s on a completely different wavelength.

“Please, Orla, this is serious!” I huff with irritation.

“For feck’s sake Michelle, get to the point!” Erin demands.

“James has gone,” I announce bluntly.

My friends stare at me in horror. “Gone?” They all say it in perfect harmony.

“Yes, he’s gone,” I confirm, “And he’s not coming back.”

“Oh Jesus,” Clare stammers, “Please say he’s not-”

“No, as far as I’m aware he’s alive and well,” I say.

“Where is he then?” Orla asks. My heart breaks slightly at the sight of her concerned face.

“Well,” I begin, before taking a breath, “you know how my aunt Kathy’s ex, Paul, came over the other day? Well, when I got back from Buncrana, Mammy told me that the reason Paul came over was to ask James if he wanted to go back to London and live with him and that James had taken him up on the offer. By that point, they would have been in Belfast waiting for the next ferry to Birkenhead.”

The girls are speechless. I suspect they have many questions, so I elaborate: “James left this note.” I pass the note to Erin and she reads it out to Clare and Orla.

“So, if I understand correctly…” Clare says in a panicked tone, “You just came back from Buncrana and he was gone? And you had no idea he was considering leaving?”

“Yes,” I respond with a deep sigh. “I wasn’t very nice to him that morning.”

“Well, that’s nothing unusual!” Erin scoffs. I am not convinced it’s sunk in for her yet.

“Even by my standards, I was horrible to him,” I add. “I’m not proud of it, but that’s the truth. He spilled some tea, which was my fault, and I launched a tirade of abuse at him. I just flew off the handle! By that, unbeknown to me, Paul had already made his offer so I strongly suspect that my outburst was a crucial factor in James’s decision to leave. He didn’t even attempt to bite back because, I assume, he knew he’d be shot of me soon.”

“That’s a bit drastic though, isn’t it? Just leaving so suddenly,” Clare says.

“Yes, but I don’t blame him,” I confess.

“Ok,” Erin says reproachfully with an accusatory glare in her eyes, “You bullied your cousin so badly he left? Christ, you are outrageous!” My prediction about accusations and recriminations turned out correct. But I’m not letting Erin get away so easily.

In a split second, the dignity and composure I have tried very hard to maintain evaporates. “Claim the moral high ground all you want, Erin, but you weren’t exactly nice to him either!” I retort.

“Why are you picking on me, Michelle?” Erin lashes out.

“Because you were rude to him plenty of times too!” I snap back. 

“Please stop! I can’t cope!” Orla yells. She looks visibly distressed. 

“Look, girls, this blame game is not helpful!” Clare interjects. “The fact of the matter is that James has left - probably for good - and to be honest I don’t really blame him! I think we’re all collectively responsible here but that’s irrelevant now because what’s done is done!”

“You’re right, Clare,” I concede, grateful that her intervention prevented the argument from escalating. “I mean, I know James was never buzzing about living in Derry, which is understandable but I didn’t appreciate just how miserable he must have been and that’s my fault because he’s my cousin and I should have looked after him better!” By this point, I’m in tears.

“I’m gonna miss his funny voice,” Orla says sadly. It’s not often I think Orla has a point, but on this occasion, I completely agree with her. “Well, what are we gonna do?”

“I’m not sure there’s anything we can do, Orla,” Erin answers, “James hated it here, so when he got the opportunity to leave, he took it. So now we just have to crack on as before!” The look on her face suggests she’s thinking something else entirely.

“No!” Clare protests. “We can write to him and apologise. This isn’t a lost cause!” 

“Clare’s right,” I say. “I’ve made this mess and now I’m going to fix it!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erin reflects on the recent news and makes a decision.

Erin’s POV

I still can’t quite get my head around James leaving. In one sense it makes sense because the Bogside is probably one of the most dangerous places in Europe for a wee English fella. But I was beginning to get used to having him around and I thought he was beginning to adjust to Derry, which is a hard place to get used to. My da, who’s from Letterkenny - only forty minutes away - still finds it weird after nearly twenty years here.

I go downstairs to make a stew for dinner to take my mind off James because it’s unlikely I’ll ever see him again and he’s probably forgotten about me. Mammy will be thrilled that she doesn’t have to cook tonight but she’ll probably suspect something’s up. You can’t win when you have an Irish mammy.

Mammy, Daddy and aunt Sarah come home from work and Granda from his coach trip to Ballycastle. Orla lays the table and serves drinks while I dish up.

“So girls, what’s the craic?” Granda asks.

“Nothing really,” I lie, trying to sound nonchalant. I don’t know how convincing I sounded but I don’t want to be the one to break the news. I can understand why Michelle was scared to tell us. Like her, I feel a sense of guilt, which isn’t surprising given that Catholics are brought up to feel guilt and I have to say that guilt is an exhausting feeling.

“I’ve got some serious scandal, so I have,” Aunt Sarah announces dramatically. “You know the wee English fella? Well, I’ve heard he’s gone back to London. Can you credit it?”

“Really? Has Kathy Maguire been back?” Mammy gasps. “Wee madam’s got some nerve dropping in and whisking the wee un back to England like that.”

“Well, she is his mother and I suspect maybe he wanted to go back to England. It is his home, after all,” Daddy says. I wonder whether James spoke to Daddy. Is he more in tune with how James was feeling all this time? I can imagine him offering a hand of friendship to James.

“Wee uns, did you know about this?” Mammy asks, looking at me suspiciously.

“Aye,” I confess.

“When did it happen?” Daddy asks.

“I can’t believe I missed the chance to see whether Kathy’s still got those cracker eyebrows. By Christ, she had the best eyebrows in Derry back in her day so she did,” Sarah mumbles.

“Not important right now, Sarah,” Mammy says sharply.

“Kathy’s ex Paul came over to visit James and when Michelle got back from Buncrana, Deirdre told her that Paul had offered to take James back to London and that he accepted the offer,” I explain. “Michelle was nasty to him that morning - more so than unusual - and she thinks that tipped him in favour of leaving so suddenly. He didn’t tell Michelle he was considering leaving. He just left the briefest of notes saying that it wasn’t working so he was leaving.”

“Jesus,” Mammy sighs.

“That’s a shame,” Granda says, “I thought he was very polite, the English thing aside.”

“Yes, I thought he was a nice lad,” Daddy agrees.

“Are you copying me, you Free State prick?” Granda sneers. Daddy says nothing and just rolls his eyes.

“You think he was polite, Daddy?” Sarah asks whimsically, “Because I think it’s really bad manners to just disappear like that.”

“Well, what do you expect, Aunt Sarah?” I lash out suddenly. There’s only so much of my aunt being an airhead that I can contend with. “He hated it here, and I don’t blame him because we didn’t exactly make him feel welcome! Christ, I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I were dumped in, say, Derby! I mean, as far as I know, there’s no civil war in central England nor widespread anti-Irish prejudice - at least not now - but I’d feel pretty shite if I got sent to live in a strange city where my accent makes me stand out like a sore thumb!”

“Erin, please!” Mammy hisses.

“Derby? That’s one letter removed from Derry!” Orla says happily, on a different planet as usual, “You know, I looked at a map of England and they have places named after cheese, like Stilton, Cheddar and Gloucester! It’s so cracker! Doubly cracker because crackers go with cheese!”

“I’m sorry to snap but I’m just upset and I feel guilty because James is a nice fella and I didn’t appreciate having him around,” I say tearfully. Daddy places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “It never occurred to me before that he’d leave, let alone that it would affect me so much!”

Later that night, I’m lying on my bed listening to RTE Radio 1 when I realise that Clare’s idea of writing to James is a good one. The opening bars of “Back for Good” start to play. I love to Take That, but the song makes me want to cry because the lyrics are so relatable. James loves Take That; his favourite song is “Everything Changes”. 

I change the station to BBC Radio Foyle; I know it's heresy for me to listen to the BBC but if we have to pay a TV licence fee, we may as well get our money’s worth. To be fair, BBC Radio 1 often plays good songs. “Don’t You Forget About Me” by Simple Minds begins to play and I listen to the lyrics carefully. I wonder whether James would recognise me or call my name as he walks on by. It’s the very song I need to get me in the mood for writing a letter.

Normally, I like to boast about my way with words but tonight, all I can manage is a simple message. I look down and what I’ve written:

Dear James,

It’s Erin here. I just wanted to say that I am sorry that it didn’t work out here and that we didn’t treat you well or make the effort to make you feel welcome. There was no excuse for that and I apologise sincerely and wholeheartedly for my part in that. I hope you can forgive me. I know this may sound hollow, but I will miss you and I wish that things could have turned out differently. You’re a nice fella, James, and a good friend. I suppose that this is a classic case of not knowing what you’ve got until it’s gone.

I hope that you settle back in London and wish you the best of luck in the sixth form.

Just one final thing: don’t forget about me. I definitely won’t forget about you and I’m sure the rest of Derry won’t either!

All the best,

Erin xx

I think of suggesting to the girls that we each write a letter to James and send it in one envelope to save on postage costs. Then I remember that we can just use a regular stamp to send mail to London and it costs the same as sending a letter to Larne. Not that we know anyone in Larne, but that’s by the by. I call Michelle and ask for James’s address, then write it on the envelope and ask for a stamp from Mammy. I hesitate a little before I push the envelope into the post box, after which point there is no going back. All I can do now is wait.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James receives some unexpected mail...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Woolworths. We will never forget.

I’ve been back in London for about a week now and I’m feeling a mixture of things. I haven’t yet gotten used to being able to go out without fear of being beaten up for being in English, even though I am back in England. Of course, nowhere in the world is entirely safe and at an aggregate level, London is probably more dangerous than Derry in terms of crime rate but I don’t live in aggregates. In any case, after learning to watch my back, it’s difficult to unlearn it. There are plenty of police officers around but that’s nothing compared to countless soldiers patrolling the streets carrying enormous firearms.

The day after my return to London, I called round to my friend John’s house. John couldn’t believe it when he saw me in the flesh again and he understandably had to do a double-take. I told him all about Derry and its idiosyncrasies in more detail than I had managed to go into in my letters. Naturally, I talked about the girls and according to John, a wistful look materialised on my face when I mentioned Erin. I denied that I had any latent feelings for Erin but it’s fair to say I probably won’t ever meet anyone quite like her. I’d say the same about the rest of the girls too, but somehow Erin’s in a league of her own in a way that isn’t clear to me, at least not yet. But it doesn’t matter as the chances of me ever seeing her again are vanishingly small.

One morning, I get up and watch TV while I eat my breakfast. Paul walks in carrying the post. “Have you put an ad in the dating section of the paper, James?” he asks me.

“No, of course not!” I respond, “But now you mention it, I should have a reasonable chance of finding a girlfriend now I’m back in London.” I make a mental note to get a haircut.

“Looks as if you’ve got some offers already,” Paul says with a cheeky wink that for some reason reminds me of Gerry. “Anyway, good luck with your interview. Make sure the leisure centre know they’d be mad not to employ you as a receptionist! See you later, James.”

“Thanks, Paul. I’ll sort dinner out,” I reply. Before he leaves, Paul places four envelopes on the table. I examine the first one and notice it has a Northern Ireland Mail Centre postmark. I look at the other three envelopes, all of which have the same postmark. My heart sinks. I thought that leaving suddenly would be enough to show that I’d be happy never to have anything to do with Derry ever again. Actions speak louder than words, after all.

Reluctantly, I open the first envelope. The letter is from Clare. She says she’s sorry that I had to leave and then rambles on about peace and cross-community reconciliation. I don’t doubt Clare’s commitment to eradicating sectarianism but somehow her words don’t really move me in the way she probably wanted them to.

The second letter is from Orla. She says she misses the funny noise I make when I talk and that she hopes my adoptive family are nice. She has even enclosed a few sweets in a paper bag. I laugh and smile and I almost find myself missing her. Perhaps it’s a bit harsh for me to view her as guilty by association because she’s a sweet girl at heart.

I hesitate before opening the last two envelopes. No matter what beef I may have with Michelle, I am fully aware that I can’t leave things the way I have forever because she is family, and if I want to maintain a cordial relationship, I can’t ignore Michelle. Unlike Woolworth's Pick and Mix, you can’t cherry-pick your family. After staring at the envelope, I slowly open it and unfold the paper inside.

Dear James,

Look, I’m really shite at this sort of thing, or anything involving emotions for that matter, so apologies if I sound well...you know what I’m like.

James, I am sorry for the way I treated you when you were here. I should have made the effort to empathise with what you’ve gone through. You needed an ally, someone to rely on, and I failed to fulfil that role, and I really do feel shit about that. Please believe me. 

In a way, this incident has made me realise I should think about what impact my words have. It’ll be a hard habit to learn, but I need to try for my own benefit. The more I think about it, the more I realise a reality check was long overdue.

James, I know you may find this hard to believe, but I do miss you and it feels empty without you here. I want to put things right, no matter how hard that may be. I don’t know exactly how I’ll do it, but please talk to me so I can at least try.

Once again, sorry for everything.

All the best,

Michelle xx

I’m surprised at how heartfelt Michelle’s letter is. It occurs to me that she may have asked Clare or Erin to help her write it but that doesn’t matter. Credit where it’s due, she has made a genuine effort. She clearly recognises we need to patch things up and I’m glad that she’s created an opening for me.

By process of elimination, the last letter must be Erin’s. For the final time, I take the letter out and read it.

Dear James,

It’s Erin here. I just wanted to say that I am sorry that it didn’t work out here and that we didn’t treat you well or make the effort to make you feel welcome. There was no excuse for that and I apologise sincerely and wholeheartedly for my part in that. I hope you can forgive me. I know this may sound hollow, but I will miss you and I wish that things could have turned out differently. You’re a nice fella, James, and a good friend. I suppose that this is a classic case of not knowing what you’ve got until it’s gone.

I hope that you settle back in London and wish you the best of luck in the sixth form.

Just one final thing: don’t forget about me. I definitely won’t forget about you and I’m sure the rest of Derry won’t either!

All the best,

Erin xx

It doesn’t surprise me that Erin’s letter has the most profound effect on me. She does have a way with words, after all. Immediately I rethink my previous decision to cut ties with Derry and everyone living there - or as much as practically possible. Maybe I can start from a clean slate with the girls. But on the other hand, the mere thought of ever setting foot in Derry again fills me with dread and I can feel my muscles tense up. Luckily I have my interview at the leisure centre as a distraction and I could do with the money.


	8. Chapter 8

Michelle’s POV

I’m pleased that James replied to my letter but a bit disappointed that he just sent a short reply wishing me well and asking me to pass on my regards to the girls and didn’t indicate any desire to come back to Derry any time soon. At least he was civil - I half expected him to either tell us fuck off or not reply at all. Still, it doesn’t feel right not to know when I’ll see him again. He’s family after all, and I’m pretty much the only family he’s got.

I decide to find a job to take my mind off things and in all honesty, I need the money. One of the annoying things about living in Derry is that news travels fast and the incident at Fionnuala’s is well known in our community. But luckily, my brash confidence is also well known - though it’s dented a bit since James’s departure - and it helps me get a job as a waitress at the pub. Some sleight of hand from my da also helped. Unfortunately, the nature of our community means that I’m famous for having an English cousin and my customers ask about him frequently. Sometimes I wish I could live in a place where I’d have more anonymity.

Like London, perhaps.

London, where James lives.

Then it hits me. I need to see James in person and talk to him. Of course, that’s the best way to put things right and show him that I am serious about reconciling. Granted, he hasn’t reciprocated my effort so far but then who can blame him.

One morning, I head to a travel agent and using some of my hand-earned cash, I buy a flight to London. I can’t believe that I’m doing it but I know I need to, for my own sake as well as James’s. I get a little scared when the travel agent (who, by the way, is quite a ride - I may come here again in future under the pretext of looking for holidays, even if the most exotic place I can afford to go is Buncrana, or Ballycastle if I’m feeling adventurous) explains to me that I’ll have an hour-and-a-half-long onward journey from the airport to get to where James lives. It’s hard to believe that it’ll take me almost as long to get across London as it takes to drive from Belfast to Derry (traffic permitting, obviously) but it’ll be a good adventure if nothing else. I write James a brief note telling him to be around on a certain date.


	9. Chapter 9

James’s POV

Michelle’s coming to visit. I was a little surprised, to put it mildly, when she told me she’d booked her tickets but she was adamant that she had to see me in person so it would be churlish to be ungracious, especially given how hard she must have worked to afford the plane tickets. I’ll take her for a day out in London while she’s here and buy her a gift just so that we’re even. I’m nervous about seeing her again but I had to cross that bridge eventually so in a way it’s good that Michelle’s taken the initiative.

I’m waiting on the main concourse at Gatwick. The arrivals screen tells me that the flight from Belfast International landed about ten minutes ago, so thanks to the Common Travel Area, Michelle should be walking through the doors any moment now. Suddenly she materialises carrying a medium-sized rucksack. She looks pretty much the same as I remember her, but then girls mature faster and earlier than boys. Hesitantly, I walk over to her.

“Hi, Michelle,” I say nervously.

“Hi, James, thanks for coming to meet me,” Michelle responds.

I hesitate for a second, not sure whether a physical greeting is appropriate. A handshake would be too formal, too businesslike, but on the other hand, a hug would be too affectionate given that we’re not exactly on great terms. But once again, Michelle takes the lead and extends her arms out for a hug and I reciprocate accordingly.

“It’s nice to see you again,” she says.

“You too,” I reply with a slight tremble. I’m not entirely sure whether I mean that. I still can’t quite believe that my cousin, the primary reason I left Derry, is standing right here but I don’t want to refight old battles. I have to let go at some point.

“So, which way to your place?” she asks.

“This way,” I say gesturing in the direction of the railway station. I buy Michelle a ticket and we board the next train towards Victoria station.

“Good journey?” I ask.

“Yeah, fine,” Michelle answers. “I saw some lads I recognised from Christian Brothers’ Boys who were going on a lads’ trip to Amsterdam getting absolutely hammered in the departure lounge.”

“Bet you wanted to join them?”

“I wanted to but knowing me I would have probably gotten arrested and let you down and Erin would melt my head about it for all eternity.”  
I laugh, which to my relief eases the tension slightly. “Well, let’s be honest, it would have gotten superseded by another disaster a week later!” 

“Aye, you’re right,” Michelle chuckles. “Though it wouldn’t take a whole week given my previous track record!” She pauses and takes a breath. “Look, James, I want to get to the reason why I’ve come here.”

“Ok.”

“The thing is, James, I want to put things right and I figured that the only way to do that was to see you face to face and express my regret at how things turned out.”

“Oh, thanks. I’m touched that you came out here.” I smile.

“James, I’ve been feeling really shit about myself and I know I deserve to because it’s my fault but I am sorry, ok? I know it’s hard to believe given how much grief I went out of my way to give you but I never wanted you to feel miserable or depressed. I thought a bit of tough love would help you get used to Derry but I went way too far and ended up using that as an excuse to be a bitch.”

“It’s ok, Michelle. I forgive you. I’m glad you’ve come because I wanted to put things right too but had no idea how to go about it. I know it sounds cowardly but I felt apprehensive about it so credit to you for making the effort.”

“That’s understandable. Approachable isn’t exactly my middle name!”

“I need to apologise too for just pissing off like that. It was breathtakingly rude and spiteful. I should have told you and allowed you to express an opinion. Even if you were mean to me, it was immature to use that as an opportunity to punish you.”

“I deserved what I got, James. I’m not self-flagellating, I’m just saying I don’t blame you and that, even if you did act a bit childishly, the ultimate blame lies with me, and I fully accept that.”

“Ok,” I sigh, then pause for a few seconds. “Truce?”

“Truce.”

“Excuse me, are you local?” a woman with an American accent asks me out of nowhere. “How do you pronounce this place?” I tell the woman how to pronounce Leicester Square and she then disappears again.

“So, how’s it been back here?”

“Great thanks. It’s nice to go to a school with other boys again and not feel like a pariah. Things aren’t right with mum yet but I think that’s a longer-term project. But Paul’s been really good to me. We spend a lot of time watching old Doctor Who episodes. Life’s generally good - uneventful but to be honest I think uneventful is underrated.”

“I’m glad to hear that, James. You know, you’re always welcome to come back to Derry to visit.”

I freeze. It’s a kind offer for sure but I haven’t yet managed to shake off the negative associations I still have with Derry. Even the notion of returning to a place where I felt so unhappy makes my stomach churn. After everything I’ve been through, I have an uphill battle to feel happy and secure again and I don’t want to squander the progress I’ve made so far. “That’s very kind of you to offer, but I just don’t feel ready to come back yet. I’m sorry, it’s a bit hard to explain-”

“No, I understand completely, but if you ever change your mind, just pick up the phone.”

I smile, and Michelle smiles back. I feel we may be getting somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up - I'm getting near the end of this fic so will focus on finishing it before I update my ongoing long fic (my aim is to get that one finished by April!)
> 
> I can't wait to write the end of this fic and when I do, I hope you all love it!
> 
> As always, thank you to my friend thenewwriter for all his creative input and of course to my loyal readers!


	10. Chapter 10

Erin’s POV

I open the front door and Michelle bounds in enthusiastically. We got upstairs to my room where Clare and Orla are sitting on my bed. Well, Orla’s lying on it as if it’s her own but that’s not important.

“What’s up motherfuckers?” Michelle says brightly.

“Why are you in such a good mood?” Clare asks suspiciously.

“Honestly, I can’t seem to do anything right!” Michelle snaps, reverting to type.

“So, tell us about London,” I say.

Orlas begins to talk. “It’s the capital of England and the United Kingdom-” 

“I meant Michelle!” I hiss.

“Ok, well, it was good to see James,” Michelle says. I hope she tells us more.

“How was he?”

“He seemed pretty well. He was a bit nervous when I met him at the airport which is understandable but he loosened up once we started talking and he’s forgiven me for being a bitch. He apologised for leaving so abruptly to punish me and I forgave him too,” Michelle answers, then pauses. “I wish I’d been nicer to him because he’s actually a nice guy. He even bought me a nice handbag to compensate for my plane fare.”

“Aye, that’s so cracker!” Orla says excitedly.

“When’s he coming to Derry?” I ask confidently.

“Erm...I’ll get to that in a second,” Michelle replies, her voice slowing down. This can’t be good. “He’s living a good life, girls. He’s got friends - fellas included - and his stepdad takes good care of him and he has a girlfriend too.”

“A girlfriend?” I blurt out involuntarily, attracting three stares.

“Yes, her name’s Clara,” Michelle answers. “Bit posh and rich, like an English Jenny Joyce but absolutely gorgeous. Charlene Kavnagh’s got nothing on her. Clare, if you saw her you’d have a cack attack.”

“Clara is a funny name,” Orla says.

“Only one letter removed from mine but so different,” Clare says. “Clare, Clara, Clare, Clara.”

“I can’t believe James got a girlfriend who you claim is prettier than Charlene Kavanagh,” I say, “I mean, he’s not much to look at.”

“Well, I’ve got evidence,” Michelle responds. She passes me a photo of herself, James and a girl whom I presume is Clara. Michelle’s right: Clara is gorgeous. You could easily think she’s a model. James has a new haircut which suits him. He looks a bit like Spike from Press Gang. He’s smiling and looks happy and confident, which is nice, but I feel slightly sad I’ve never seen that side of him. 

“So, did he say whether he’s planning to come back to Derry at some point?” I ask, phrasing my question more tentatively this time.

“He said he doesn’t feel ready to come back yet and I don’t really blame him. I think he’s still a bit scarred as a result of everything that’s happened with his ma and has negative associations with Derry in his mind,” Michelle answers. She looks crestfallen, which I’ve never seen before.

“Aye, that’s a shame. I miss his funny voice,” Orla mumbles.

“Orla, that’s just his voice!” Clare squeaks. “Well, James is clearly a vulnerable young boy with a few issues to sort out and I hope that he manages to do that.”

So, James has a girlfriend and has no desire to return to Derry. For some reason, I feel absolutely crushed and I can’t get my head around why. It’s similar to the time Katya started snogging James out of nowhere. Perhaps James has forgotten about me and I should forget about him, which won’t be easy at all.


	11. Chapter 11

James’s POV

Since Michelle came to visit me about a year and a half ago, we’ve kept in contact - albeit sporadically - and somehow we now have something resembling a healthy and mature relationship. Forgiveness is much more life-affirming that holding grudges.

It seems a long time since I left Derry and I feel immeasurably more confident in myself. School is over now and - subject to grades, I’ll be off to university in the autumn. During the Easter holidays, I phoned Michelle and we had a good chat about life, school and everything and our plans for the long summer. The conversation descended into banter and before I knew where I was, Michelle was jokingly inviting me to Derry. It was a bit unexpected, but after I thought about it, I realised that despite how difficult living in Derry was, I had moved on since then and I finally felt strong enough to confront my memories. When I accepted Michelle’s offer, it took some time to convince her that I was serious. It was quite entertaining listening to her swearing down the phone incredulously.

So here I am on an Ulster Airways flight from Gatwick to Derry. I feel a little apprehensive about seeing the girls again even though Michelle has assured me that they have missed me, which I hope means they’ll be glad to see me. It’ll be interesting to see how much the girls have changed and part of me hopes that they haven’t changed too much.

My plane touches down and as I exit the aircraft, I notice how warm and sunny the weather is, which I wasn’t expecting. Is this a good sign? I try to remember the literary term for using the weather as a way of representing a character’s feelings. Erin will know, I’ll ask her later. I still can’t believe I’ll be seeing her in a few hours. After I returned to London, I realised there was something different about Erin. Something special, though I couldn’t quite put a finger on what. Somehow, I couldn’t forget about her, try as I might. She kept creeping into my memory when I let my guard down. Of course, I couldn’t forget any of the girls, but Erin was in a league of her own.

When I spot Auntie Deirdre and Michelle on the main concourse, I break into a smile. It doesn’t feel real until I’m standing right in front of them.

“Look, Mammy, I got our Brit back!” Michelle says with a triumphant smirk then hugs me. She seems delighted to see me and I can hardly believe she’s the same person who bullied me so much, even though that’s water under the bridge now.

“Welcome back, my favourite wee limey!” Deirdre says before hugging me as well.

“You’ll have to try harder if you want to insult me!” I say with a wink.

“What have you done with James Maguire?” Michelle asks jokingly.

“Let’s get home wee uns, I’ve reclaimed my big bowl and baked a cake!” Deirdre says.

“You’ve reclaimed your bowl?” I ask.

“Yes, I gave it away to Mary because no one appreciated my baking,” Deirdre replies. “Michelle had forgotten about it until I got it back!”

We head towards the car park. Michelle and I get in the car while Auntie Deirdre goes to validate her ticket. 

“So, looking forward to seeing the girls again?” Michelle asks.

“Yes, definitely,” I respond, “Are they excited to see me? At the risk of sounding cocky, I’m a little disappointed they didn’t come with you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, James,” Michelle chuckles, “There’s a good reason why they’re not here.”

“What is that?” I ask curiously.

“They don’t know you’re here,” Michelle responds with a grin the size of the Giant’s Causeway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this!
> 
> This fic will be over soon and the next chapter is the one I've been dying to write so stay tuned!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! This chapter is pretty much the main reason I wrote this fic and I've been looking forward to writing it for ages!
> 
> I had tremendous fun writing it - it's definitely my favourite in this fic so I hope you enjoy reading it!

Erin’s POV

It’s a warm summer’s evening and we’re making the most of it by holding a barbecue. Needless to say, Granda’s in charge of the barbecue itself and Daddy’s on salad duty, which he’s not too pleased about. Honestly, I don’t understand why fellas get so precious about who gets to man - or rather, attend - the barbecue. Men are weird creatures. I’ve decided to avoid blokes for now so I can go to university in the autumn and start from a clean slate.

Orla is helping Granda with the barbecue, which she’s thoroughly enjoying because she finds the hot coals cracker. If we can make it through the night without calling the emergency services then it really will be a miracle and Mammy will have Father Peter round again, who I do not especially want to see. The only men I can tolerate at the moment are Daddy and Granda - and Mulder from X Files of course. Meanwhile, Mammy and Aunt Sarah are lying on the grass with a glass of Pimm’s each, Clare is playing with little Anna and I’m just gazing up at the blue sky. 

I’m knocked out of my trance when Michelle materialises and yells, “What’s up motherfuckas!” Seriously, Pulp Fiction is three years old now, though Bronagh Gallagher’s parents love to mention it at any opportunity. To be fair, a city like Derry needs its local heroes to show that there’s more to us than sectarian bigotry. On a side note, Nadine Coyle in the first year at our school who sings in the choir has a cracker voice for a twelve-year-old.

“Evening, Michelle, what’s the craic?” Mammy asks as she sits up.

Michelle turns around and looks inside the house. A tall fella emerges wearing a baseball cap and dark sunglasses. I’m a bit puzzled as to why he’s wearing a disguise and why Michelle didn’t mention him. If she’s bringing a fella, she doesn’t normally keep quiet about it, especially if he’s a ride.

“Ach, Michelle, have you taken a Brit prisoner?” Aunt Sarah asks.

“Sarah, that is not funny!” Mammy yells. “We cannot be having a Brit in this house. By Christ, we’d have to flee! We’d be refugees!”

“Mary, calm down, I hardly think Michelle’s brought in a random soldier!” Daddy says.

“Free State prick! Doesn’t care about our safety!” Granda barks.

“Michelle, who is this guy and why is he wearing a cap and sunglasses? Is he a Brit?” Clare panics.

“Does he talk?” Orla asks, absent-minded as ever.

“No, he’s not a Brit!” Michelle huffs.

“Well, I am in a manner of speaking,” the fella finally says in an accent that’s alien, yet so familiar.

No, it can’t be.

“Are you….” I gasp.

“Yes,” the fella responds and removes his cap and sunglasses. “Remember me?”

All of a sudden I’m transfixed on the fella who, as it turns out, is James. James, who left here two years ago and I haven’t seen since. I can just about recognise him. For one thing, he’s a few inches taller. His hair has been cut short on the back and sides and layered on top - well styled with judicious use of hold gel - and he’s rocking some stubble that would make George Michael jealous and emphasises his strong jawline. He’s still quite thin but his shoulders are considerably broader now and his biceps are impossible not to notice, just like his pecs which I can almost see through his shirt, of which he’s left the top two buttons open. Not that I mind in the slightest.

How under God did James become so incredibly handsome and also sexy? I didn’t think he was much to look at before but there’s no denying that Michelle’s English cousin is now absolutely fecking gorgeous. I’m not sure how to process the reality that the fella I thought was a bit of a drip has morphed into a complete ride, a total stud, a massive hunk. All of us except Michelle is standing there, mouths agape.

“Is it you, James?” I ask incredulously. “Let me check something.” I walk over to James and place my hand around his biceps on the pretext of verifying that he’s not an illusion but it would be futile to deny the real reason for touching his arms.

“Yes, Erin, it’s me,” he responds in a husky voice that practically turns my bones to jelly. He hugs me, then Clare, then Orla, and then bends down so little Anna can hug him too.

He then heads over to Granda and they shake hands. “Strong handshake - always a sign of confidence. I approve,” Granda says, somehow managing to be intimidating and friendly at the same time. But James just smiles confidently and then shakes hands with Daddy as well before going over to Aunt Sarah and Mammy.

“Hello, Mrs Quinn, Miss McCool,” he says timidly.

“Sure, a big handsome fella like you isn’t intimidated by a pair of Irish mammies?” Mammy asks cheekily and sternly at the same time.

“Well, a wee English fella is no match for an Irish mammy, especially two of them!” James responds with a nervous laugh.

“Aye, Sarah, he knows his place!” Mammy cackles.

“That is such a rare quality in a fella so it is, Mary,” Aunt Sarah says whimsically. “You’ve definitely got your ma’s eyebrows so you have. At our salon, we have a game where we guess what family a new customer belongs to based on their eyebrows. Great craic so it is.”

“Thank you, Miss McCool,” James says shyly. There’s something hilarious about a big hunk of a fella blushing at my aunt, so I try to enjoy the spectacle.

“If you need a chest wax or anything like that, I can offer a good discount,” Aunt Sarah adds flirtatiously.

“That’s a kind offer, thank you,” James responds.

“Tell me, James, have you joined the fire service?” Mammy inquires with a cheeky look on her face.

“No, I just go to the gym a lot. I work there so I get free use of the facilities,” James answers.

“I love a fella who takes good care of himself, Mary, don’t you?” Aunt Sarah mumbles. James’s face turns a bright shade of red.

“You know, you kind of remind me of this series I watch called London’s burning,” Mammy says.

“Catch yourself on, Mary, he’s not gonna throw you over his shoulder!” Aunt Sarah scoffs dismissively.

“I could if you wanted me to,” James offers.

“Go on then,” Mammy replies.

Sure enough, James successfully lifts Mammy over his shoulder and she lets out a high-pitched squeal. This is no longer funny. I envisage being in detention for three hours while listening to Jenny sing and decide that that would be preferable to what I’m currently witnessing.

“Aye, that was impressive so it was,” Aunt Sarah gasps. “Can I have a go? I’m a bit thinner than Mary so you should have no problem with me.”

“For you dear, anything,” James answers smoothly, before effortlessly flinging Aunt Sarah over his shoulder.

“What the feck?” Daddy yells.

“Calm down, Gerry, we’re just making the wee English fella welcome,” Aunt Sarah protests defensively.

“Maybe a little too welcome?” Daddy hisses. 

“You leave my girls alone and let them enjoy the company of a strapping young fella!” Granda roars. “You’re just jealous because you haven’t given my Mary any satisfaction in the last twenty years!”

“I’ve given her plenty of satisfaction over the years!” Daddy retorts. Boke-o-rama.

“Too much information, Daddy!” I cry.

“Gerry, make yourself useful and get the wee un a drink!” Mammy orders. Daddy heads to the kitchen, knowing the game is up.

“Wee un...I’ve missed hearing that word,” James says with an offensively adorable smile. He starts playing with little Anna, at which point I gather the girls and lead them up to my room.

“Ok, Michelle, I have a bone to pick with you!” I growl.

“Yeah, and?” Michelle says with an indifferent smug.

“Well, you not only failed to mention that your cousin was coming back but also the fact that he’s now a massive ride!” I yell.

“Well, of course, he’s a ride, he’s related to me,” Michelle says casually, “It’s basic biology. Anyway, aren’t you happy to see him? I worked really hard to put things right between me and him so I’d appreciate it if you could also make the effort!”

“Of course I’m happy to see the wee English fella again!” I snap, “It’s just a huge surprise.”

“Help me, girls!” Clare shrieks, “I thought I was a lesbian but I can’t stop looking at James because he’s so good-looking!”

“Clare, finding a fella attractive does not constitute being straight!” Michelle snaps, “So don’t worry about that.” Clare breathes a sigh of relief.

“I love his wee whiskers, they’re so cracker!” Orla pipes up.

“Orla, that’s called stubble! He’s not a cat!” I retort.

“Aye, he’s a stallion!” Michelle sighs wistfully. “Pity he’s my cousin really and not because I’m ashamed to share DNA with the fella.”

“Sorry, I don’t follow,” Clare says.

“Well the British Royal Family aren’t averse to a bit of...you know...,” Michelle responds.

“Ok, Michelle, we know what you’re talking about!” I jump in quickly.

“I love those wee corgis,” Orla mumbles.

Later that evening, I’m lucky enough to encounter James on his own.

“Hi, James.”.

“Hi, Erin.” He smiles tentatively and scratches his stubble. I wonder if he knows I’m going weak in the knees. I bet he does, the wee fecker. The hunk of a wee fecker, that is.

“Can I ask you one thing?”

“Of course.”

“Did you forget about me?” 

“I tried to, but I couldn’t. I mean, how could I forget about you?” Yeah, I’ll take that. His smile widens and I reciprocate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter!
> 
> I apologise for misleading you into thinking this was the end...it's not.


	13. Chapter 13

Erin’s POV

I wake up early one morning lying on the floor of Jim’s third-best tent at our favourite campsite in Buncrana, where we decided to take a spontaneous trip. I look at my watch. It’s six o’clock. I turn over and look at Michelle, Clare and Orla in a deep sleep. Annoyingly, I can’t go back to sleep so I decide to go outside and get some fresh Donegal air. 

The first thing I notice is James doing press-ups outside Jim’s fourth-best tent (I forgot to mention that this was promoted from the fifth-best tent after the incident in Portnoo). It’s a good thing that James slept in a separate tent because I would have stayed up all night watching him sleep. It’s rather funny that he’s exercising so early in the morning but then I suppose that’s how he stays in good shape.

I walk over to James, who’s far too engrossed in his push-ups to register my presence. “Are you trying to become the next Arnold Schwarzenegger?” I ask him teasingly. Unfortunately, this startles him and in the shock, his elbows give way and he ends up prostrate on the floor. 

“Erin!” James whines, “I was on my fifty-third press-up and I’m trying to make it to sixty!”

“Oh you, you’re obsessed!” I laugh, “Next you’ll be telling me you drink protein shakes!”

“I do.”

“Right, of course you do, that’s perfectly normal!” I feel a bit awkward now.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No, not sure why.”

“Fancy a walk along the beach?”

How cracker! He’s practically asking me out on a date! I try to stay calm. I have an awful track record of losing my composure in the company of attractive fellas. “Oh go on then.” I flash him a cheeky wink.

We head towards the beach and sit down on the sand, watching the waves crash.

“It’s a bit chilly,” I remark, kissing my teeth.

“Want to sit a little closer?” James asks. “You know, share body heat like penguins.”

My heart leaps at that suggestion. We shuffle a bit closer and James puts his muscular arm around my back. It’s a rather bold move but I’m definitely not complaining.

“Your girlfriend wouldn’t mind you getting this close to another girl?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend. We broke up a while back. We weren’t right for each other.”

“I’m sorry to hear about that.”

“It’s ok. It was quite a relief really. We went camping in Dorset for a weekend and I was relieved to get home again!”

“Dorset?”

“It’s a county on the south coast of England. You’d like it. It’s very pretty and has a beautiful coast. It has connections to Thomas Hardy as well.”

“Sounds cracker.” I pause. “James, are you glad you chose to leave Derry back then?”

“I’m not sure. I would have certainly told you before leaving so you could have expressed an opinion. But in a way, I feel I’ve matured and grown stronger as a person and that we’re in a better position to be friends now.”

“I’d say you’ve matured into a fine parmesan,” I respond in a giggle. “But yeah, maybe you’re right. The main thing is you're back.”

“I’m glad I came back. You’ll be seeing me more at uni in September!”

“I’ll need an English fella to show me around England,” I laugh. “Who’d have thought we’d end up at the same uni? It’s mental!”

“This feels a bit like an American teen film,” James says, “You know, with you watching me exercise and us going for a walk on the beach.”

“I was thinking it’s like Baywatch. I mean, I’ve even got a knock-off David Hasselhoff!”

“That’s a comparison I don’t mind!” James pauses. “I’m not sure about Baywatch though. They don’t wear jumpers on Baywatch!”

“True, but this is Donegal, not Los Angeles.” We both laugh.

“Maybe you could write an Irish version of Baywatch!”

“Like a parody? Yeah, maybe that’s not such a bad idea!” I giggle. I’m glad that despite turning into a hunk, James still has an element of the dork about him. 

We head back to the campsite and stop outside James’s tent. I don’t want to go back into the other tent with the girls. I’m having too much fun. “So, see you in a few hours then, I guess,” James says.

My face drops slightly with disappointment. “James, I don’t suppose-”

“Yeah, you can join me,” he cuts me off. I fetch my sleeping bag and camping mat and crawl into the smaller tent next to James. “Comfortable?” he asks.

“Yeah, but it could be even more comfortable,” I murmur.

James wraps his arm around me - by Christ this boy knows what l like - and moves a bit closer, his pecs acting as excellent natural cushions. “This ok?”

“Cracker.” James plants a kiss on my shoulder and then closes his eyes. I close my eyes too, and I think hard about how perfect this feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this fic which I had a great time writing!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the ending - please review :)


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